


Casual Contact

by kam



Series: Cotton Candy [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kam/pseuds/kam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bit of Johnlock cuddling fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casual Contact

For the first five months, John made the (completely logical) assumption that Sherlock simply did not _like_ to be touched. He tolerated it, occasionally, particularly from Mrs. Hudson, but in general, he seemed to shy away from situations that involved touching people. Well, living people, anyway. Which was fine, of course, it was all fine. John didn’t care that much for casual contact – a handshake here, a clap on the back there, a hair-ruffle if he was feeling particularly chuffed. But generally, John preferred his physical contact to be a bit more _meaningful_ , and Sherlock appeared to prefer his non-existent.

Which is why he was terribly surprised when, one evening in May, Sherlock came into the sitting room at the end of a three-day strop and curled up on the sofa next to John, dropping his head quite emphatically into John’s lap. Neither said anything, though John looked down with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock didn’t look at him, so, after a few moments, John gave up and went back to his book. Sherlock laid, silent and still, for several hours, only moving once to curl a bit closer to John’s leg. John absent-mindedly stroked his hair for a bit, but stopped when he realized what he was doing.

It seemed that had been a one-off until a week later, when Sherlock came and draped himself over John while he typed up his latest blog-post. “You’ve misspelled ‘lackadaisically.’ There’s only meant to be one s.” Sherlock’s voice rumbled against John’s back, and he shivered a bit and changed the spelling. They were quiet for a few minutes, and John marveled at how Sherlock moved bonelessly against him, following the slight motions of his shoulders and arms. “Two o’s,” he murmured, quite close to John’s ear. Then, a few minutes later, “You can’t switch tense like that, John, honestly.” Sherlock stayed against John’s back until he hit ‘post,’ and then he sighed heavily and stood, shaking himself and wandering off. John stayed in his chair for a minute, trying to shrug off the feeling of Sherlock’s warm, lanky body. He couldn’t, quite.

There were several more incidents across the next two weeks – Sherlock curling against John on the sofa or leaning against John to read over his shoulder or, on one occasion, lying full-out across John’s lap during a strop. John ignored these, for the most part, aside from a raised eyebrow or a pointed throat-clearing. He didn’t _mind_ , precisely, it was just a bit _odd_. This wasn’t quite something flatmates _did_. But Sherlock didn’t say anything about it, and John didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. Perhaps it was some sort of experiment, and if that was the case, it was almost certainly meant to be _obvious_. So, clearly best not to mention it.

Except that one night, John woke up to Sherlock crawling into bed beside him. And, experiment or no, that was definitely crossing a line. Which line, specifically, John couldn’t say. But it was definitely there, and Sherlock was definitely stomping all over it as he slid under the covers and arranged himself behind John, pressing his face into John’s hair and slipping an arm about his waist. “Sherlock,” John’s voice was deep and thick with sleep. “Yes,” Sherlock’s voice was even deeper. “What are you doing.” Sherlock yawned. “Don’t be dull, John.” “Sherlock, _why_ are you in my bed at half three?” Sherlock muttered something into John’s pillow, and John squirmed, trying to pull away. “I was _lonely_ ,” Sherlock whined, tightening his arm to hold John in place. “Hold _still_.”

And that was that, John’s protests were useless. What could one possibly say in response to one’s mad, brilliant, ‘high-functioning sociopath’ of a flatmate admitting to being _lonely_? Clearly, all one could say was, “Alright, Sherlock. Alright.” And it was. Alright, that is. It was alright. None of it _bothered_ John, the touching or the petting or the cuddling. He didn’t mind running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, or readjusting his arm when Sherlock insisted his way underneath it, or sharing his bed with a Sherlock-shaped furnace (even in summer – John didn’t much care for the covers, anyway.) It was just… Fine. It was all fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe even high-functioning sociopaths get lonely. I wouldn't know, being of the low-functioning variety myself.


End file.
